


Dog Daze

by firenewt



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenewt/pseuds/firenewt
Summary: Sometimes its best to let sleeping dogs, and memories, lie.





	Dog Daze

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Turk Week 2018, Day 7. The prompt was "vacation".
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Thanks to Square Enix for letting me play in their world.

Rufus strong-armed the lid of the suitcase again and again, then threw his body on top of it, trying to press it down far enough to get it closed. He fumbled one-handed with the catch, unable to see it as his head was on the other side of the case. It was a no-go. He slid off and it sprang fully open again, and a pair of blue board shorts and most of a thick white cashmere evening jacket flipped out onto the bed. Cursing, he stuffed them back in, tucking various articles in around the edges of the case in a futile effort to make them stay in place. 

“Reno! RENO! Help me with this! It’s all escaping!” Rufus bellowed, pushing the lid down again and this time turning and hopping up to sit on it. His feet dangled a good six inches off the floor. A paw darted out from under the bed skirt and grabbed at his sock. “OW!” He yelled, jerking his foot up. “DARK! Stop that! REEENNOOO!!”

“WHAT. WHADDYA WANT NOW.” came the answer from the living room of the condo.

“I can’t get this closed! Come here and help me!” Rufus kicked ineffectually at the paws flailing for his feet, trying not to slide off the bulging suitcase. “Ow ow ow!” he wailed.

“Oh, for th’luva th’Goddess!” Reno said crossly. He appeared in the bedroom door. “Yer the friggin’ VP! Cantcha do NUTHIN’ fer yerself, yo?!”

“It’s your job to hhaaAAAHHH!” The executive in question made a grab for the edge of the bed but only ended up pulling both the suitcase and half the bedspread off with him as a tentacle wrapped around his calf and yanked him onto the floor. “OW!” he yelped.

“Minerva gimme strength!” Reno muttered. He strode over to the pile of clothes spilling out of the overturned case and the moaning young man under them. He slammed the suitcase back onto the bed and started picking things up and throwing them in.

Rufus struggled onto his elbows. “You’re not doing that right! You have to do it the right way! You’re not folding ANYTHING! What are you doing! It’s all going to be WRINKLED!” 

“Get over yerself, brat! I ain’t yer maid!” Reno crammed a pair of shoes in on top of a silk shirt. “They’re goin’ in wherever they fit or yer not takin’ them!”

“NO! I need them all!” 

“No, you don’t! Lookit this! No way it’s gonna close!” the Turk indiscriminately grabbed a handful of items and pulled them out of the bulging suitcase. He tossed them aside and tried to shut the lid. It was still several inches from closing, so he removed the jacket and tried again. This time it juuust clicked together. “There! Yer all packed!” 

Rufus stared in open-mouthed horror. His precious and formerly pristine finery was scattered all over the bed and floor, and his jacket (dry clean only) was hopelessly crushed. A paw snuck out from under the bed again and dragged a pair of briefs back with it. He scrambled to his feet, snatching up random articles, and ran after the Turk who was lugging the heavy bag to the front door.

“But what about these! I can’t go without these! Put these in! I DEMAND you put these in!” 

In response Reno threw a pair of shoes at him. “Put ‘em on, brat!” Ya wanna miss the flight? Yer THAT close to stayin’ home, yo! Where’s the mutt. Ain’t got time fer chasin’ a stupid dog! Get ‘er here or she can stay, too, fer all I care!”

Rufus opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish dying to have the last word, then sullenly put his shoes on, followed by his vest and coat. “Dark!” he called. “Come here, girl!”

The Guard Hound trotted toward him, her little stub of a tail wagging as much as it could and her tentacle held proudly high. She dropped the pair of stolen briefs at his feet and shoved her head under his hand for a pat. 

Reno snickered. “Ya wanna take those, too?” He nudged the slobber-covered material with his toe.

Rufus looked at them sadly. He stuffed a few of the items that had been rudely expelled from the suitcase into the pockets of his coat. “I’m going to tell Veld that you ruined my wardrobe!” He glowered at the tall Turk.

“Tell away,” Reno sniffed. “Now git yer sorry ass in gear ‘n let’s mosey!” He opened the door and motioned for Rufus to precede him. 

Nose in the air, Rufus stalked past. Dark Nation followed at his heels. Reno shoved the heavy suitcase out after them with his foot, intending to close the door behind them all before picking it up again. Unfortunately, he shoved it directly into Dark Nation’s back end. With a guttural growl, she spun and snapped at him. Reno made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a shout as he jumped back. His EMR was suddenly in his hand and he held it defensively in front of himself as the Hound continued to show her teeth. 

“Git back, ya stupid dog! Git down! Call ‘er off!” he yelled at Rufus, waving his EMR threateningly. Dark started to snarl; her hackles rose and her tentacle whipped back and forth.

“Why should I?” Rufus was feeling no love for the Turk at the moment. “You ruined my things and then you hurt my Hound! I should let her bite you but she’d probably get food poisoning!”

“She’s gonna git worse ‘n that if she dun git back, yo! Call ‘er off, I said!”

“Dark. Down. It’s okay,” Rufus said reluctantly. He snapped his fingers and the Hound retreated obediently to his side. She continued to stare at Reno and growl low in her throat, though, as her master laid a hand on her head and rubbed gently behind her ears.

Reno slowly lowered his weapon and then turned it off, never taking his eyes off Dark Nation. “Goddamn mutts!” he muttered. “Who needs ‘em, yo!”

“Dark Nation is a purebred Guard Hound, not a mutt! She comes from a long line of champions and was the best of her litter. Her pedigree is impeccable!” Rufus said haughtily. “It’s not her fault she hates you. You’re just naturally hateable!”

“Whatever. Dogs ‘r dogs, yo. Just keep ‘em away from me!” Reno cautiously edged over to pick up the offending suitcase. “Let’s go.”

Rufus motioned for Dark to move to his other side, so he was between her and the Turk. He didn’t particularly care about Reno’s feelings but he didn’t want to miss his flight. Any more delays were to be avoided. “Why don’t you like dogs?” he asked curiously as they headed down the hall to the elevator. Reno had never really gotten along with Dark Nation, and she had not warmed to him. They mostly tolerated each other with a kind of mutual disdain, but as Rufus was a dog person himself, it was incomprehensible to him that someone might actually hate them.

“They dun like me. I dun like them, yo,” Reno said shortly.

“But why? There has to be a reason. Maybe you should stop hitting them in the bum,” Rufus mused.

“Nunayer beeswax,” Reno grumbled.

“Tell me! You owe me! Tell me or I’ll make you go shopping with me to replace everything you wrecked!”

Reno rolled his eyes. He was usually indifferent to threats. However, he hated shopping, especially clothes shopping. He considered his position carefully; he was nothing if not practical, even though it meant giving in to the Brat.

“I’ll think ‘bout it, yo.” He didn’t want to give in too easily.

Rufus was fine with that. He knew he’d have hours in the helicopter to wear the Turk down and he was confident he’d get his way. He could wait a little longer.

 

The port at Junon was one of the busiest on Gaia. It received traffic from the air, land and sea, both civilian and military. It was extremely important strategically and economically, but that meant it was also a favourite place through which to funnel drugs; arms; people; and whatever other commodities there was a market for. Although Shin-Ra would never admit it, the presence of the military base there not only added to the rampant corruption but often provided a cover for it and greased its wheels. However, security at the Port’s various terminals operated independently from the company and, although it was a constant challenge, they did their best to keep the balance on the right side of the law. 

Officer Maria Vasquez was a fifteen year veteran of the Port Security. She had requested a move to the canine unit six years ago, and now she and her beagle Chipit were one of many pairs that patrolled the port, on the lookout for contraband. The humans used their eyes and experience to spot suspicious-looking people and packages, but the dogs’ sensitive noses were invaluable for detecting invisible threats.

The duo constantly roamed the huge Arrival concourse, monitoring the steady stream of passengers as they picked up their bags; transferred to other flights or boats; or headed outside to catch a ride or pursue whatever business they had in Junon proper.

A tall lean figure drifting around the edges of the crowd caught the officer’s attention. The bulky military surplus coat and wool slouch beanie, both in olive drab, helped him blend into the background against the dirty concrete walls and floor. He shuffled along, tongues sticking out of his unlaced boots, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and a battered rucksack slung across his back. Although she couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses he wore, she knew he wasn’t nearly as indifferent to his surroundings as he seemed.

As she watched, a man in a long black top coat bumped into him. He stumbled slightly, hitching the strap of his pack up higher on his shoulder, paused to look up at the giant screen directing travelers to various destinations, and then headed toward the exit, this time with more energy and purpose.

Vasquez immediately waded into the crowd, aiming to intersect him before he made it out of the building. As they got closer, even though he couldn’t see or possibly know which person his human had her eye on, Chipit began pulling hard on his leash, making a beeline for the same target.

It seemed some sixth sense alerted the man: he glanced around nervously and picked up his pace, dodging around a woman with a stroller and a couple holding hands that were moving too slowly to get out of his way. The crowd grew thicker as it bottlenecked near the entrance/exit doors; Vasquez dropped Chipit’s leash and he took off at a run, easily outdistancing her as he wove between legs and feet, while she had to move with more discretion. 

In a few seconds she could hear the dog’s excited barking, and when she caught up with him he was dancing around the man of interest, frantically wagging his tail as he alerted his human partner to the prize he had found. “AOU! AOU! AOU! BAAOOUUU! BAAOOUUU!!” The was nothing quite like the bay of a beagle and it cleared the area around them rather quickly as people gave them a wide berth in alarm.

Chipit saw his human arrive and immediately became ecstatic. He zoomed back and forth between her feet and the man’s boots, his whole body wiggling. _Look! Look what I found! I am a good boy! Good boy right here! Let’s get my treat please!_ “AOU! AOU! AOU!”

Vasquez gave him his special rope chew toy and motioned for him to sit. He dropped onto his butt in front of the man and gnawed at the toy industriously. 

The man was clutching his backpack in front of himself protectively, not taking his eyes off the dog. “Git ‘im off me, yo!” he pleaded. “I din do nuthin’! Git! Git away!”

“He won’t hurt you,” the security officer said. “He’s trained to look for things that might not be cleared to go through the port,” she added delicately. Always best not to directly accuse someone of illegal activity right off the bat. Although the guy ticked every box on the list of suspicious appearance and behavior, it was possible that he could be totally innocent of any wrongdoing.

“Dun got nuthin’! Din do nuthin’! Imma private citizen! I got rights!” 

“Of course you do, sir,” Vasquez said soothingly. “And if you’ll cooperate we’ll get you on your way directly. Where are you coming from?”

“Corel,” came the sullen answer.

“Really? You just came through the gate from the overnight ferry from Costa.” Costa del Sol was well known as a haven for sex tourism and a major source of drugs, illicit and otherwise.

“Well, mighta took th’scenic route.”

“Hmm. Put your pack on the floor and step over here, please, and spread your arms.”

He held onto his pack more tightly. “Y’ain’t gonna get my stuff! I wanna lawyer! I wanna phone call!”

“Sir, you aren’t under arrest. You haven’t been charged with anything. This is a routine check, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.” Vasquez used her parent voice, patient and reasonable with an overlay of no-nonsense authority. “And take your glasses off, please. I like to see who I’m talking to.”

The glasses were reluctantly removed. He folded them in one hand, but still didn’t relinquish his bag. Vasquez dipped her head to see his face. A pair of startlingly green eyes framed by garish red facial decorations…tattoos, she thought…and underscored by dark circles met hers briefly, then slid away. She revised her estimate of his age downward by at least a decade, and her assessment of the situation accordingly. 

“Good. Thank you,” she gave him a smile and decided that the parental approach was worth continuing for the present. “Now put your pack on the floor. No one’s going to take it. Step over here and hold your arms out, like this...” She demonstrated, holding her arms out in a ‘T’.

Slowly, the boy let his bag slip to the floor, reluctantly letting go of the strap and following the officer’s instructions. He stood silently, gazing blankly over her head and into the distance. Vasquez quickly ran a metal detector over him, up and down, back and front. The alert was instantaneous. There wasn’t a place she scanned that didn’t set it off. 

She stepped back, frowning. “Okay. Take your hat, coat and boots off, please, and put them with your pack. And empty your pockets.”

He looked at her incredulously. “Nah, I ain’t gonna! Y’ain’t gonna search me!” He was shaking his head vehemently.

Vasquez sighed. It was going to be one of those days. “This is just routine,” she reassured him. “It’s just a precaution.” That sounded sufficiently vague yet wasn’t quite a lie.

“Nah, itsa public place, yo! Whaddarya, sum kinda perv?” He clutched his arms protectively around himself.

“Just….take them off,” she said firmly, a bit of an edge creeping into her tone.

Muttering and shaking his head and glancing at her suspiciously, he slowly complied. His coat was carefully set on top of the pack, rather than on the floor, and the hat perched on top of that. Digging deep into the pockets of his pants, he pulled out a folded utility knife; a ten gil note; a handful of coins; a stick of gum; a squashed pack of cigarettes with a book of matches tucked into it; two condoms; and a moth-eaten rabbit’s foot. Finally he stood there again, arms out, cheeks flushed. Vasquez kept her expression neutral as she ran the detector over him again, ignoring the now-exposed unkempt shock of red hair; the dirty threadbare t-shirt and jeans; the grimy bare feet; the thin arms with the obvious tracks and scars. This time the machine was quiet. 

“Thank you,” she said again, and the boy quickly turned and reached for his belongings. 

“Hang on!” She said and he froze. “We just have to check those before you can put them on again. Oh, alright, go ahead and put those back in your pocket,” she motioned to the small pile of miscellaneous items and he immediately scooped them up and stowed them away. “But leave the rest for a minute.” Before he could start another argument, she signaled the dog forward. “Search, Chip!”

The boy’s gaze shot to the animal. “Nah!” He threw himself onto his coat and pack. “Git away from my stuff! Git back!” he cried, trying to off fend the eager dog.

Chipit thought this was a fine game. He barked and dodged and sank his teeth into the backpack, pulling it out from under the boy, who grabbed the shoulder straps and tried to take it back. What a glorious game of tug-o-war! He growled and yanked in sharp jerks, determined to get at the bag and do his job!

But his human was not amused. Chipit was young and sometimes his enthusiasm got the better of him, but this was not proper behavior for a dog on duty. She called him to order sharply and he dropped the bag guiltily, and sat, looking rather sheepish. The officer was rather sharp with her person of interest, as well. This routine check was taking far too long and attracting far too much attention from curious passers-by. “Get up” she snapped at the boy. “Enough of this! You can either cooperate and get this over with quickly, or I can take you and your precious bag into Secondary and give you a thorough going-over back there.”

She expected more resistance but the boy unexpectedly drooped in defeat. He stood by passively with his arms folded, staring at the floor, while the dog went over the bag, coat and boots. Chipit snuffled loudly, rooting around with his nose, and occasionally pawing to get better access. He trotted over to the boy, and circled him, poking his nose into various private places and taking long deep sniffs, then blowing out through his nostrils. The boy shivered and clenched his eyes shut but held still.

The dog went back to the pile on the floor for one last go-over and then sat. He barked once and looked at his handler. 

“Something in there, boy?” she asked, squatting next to him. “Let’s have a look, shall we?” Vasquez pulled a pair of disposable gloves out of her pocket and put them on. First she went over the hat, boots and coat, carefully going through each pocket, checking the seams, feeling along the hems and padding, noting all the buttons and zippers and clips. She set what she removed a bit to the side, then cautiously opened the bag. Instead of sticking her hand in, she turned it over and shook the contents out. Safety first. 

Out tumbled an incredible array of things. She gave the bag a final shake and turned it inside out but there was nothing else in it and no place to hide anything. The she sifted through the combined piles of paraphernalia, shaking her head: four knives of various sizes; a small bag of weed; a three foot fine-link chain; two lighters; two hat pins; a can opener; a tiny tactical flashlight; a box of emergency fuel blocks; a small bundle of cordite; a wad of C4 the size of a fist; a make-up mirror in a folding case; a tube of cherry flavoured lip balm; half a tuna sub; a wadded-up t-shirt; a half-used bar of soap; a toothbrush with the bristles worn into a fan; a dog-eared pocket Midgarian-Wutaian dictionary and a small battered teddy bear.

“Oh, dear Lady,” the officer muttered. No wonder Chip had been all over this guy. Looking at the pale skinny youth waiting despondently a few steps away, she wished that for once her internal radar had been wrong. He looked like he needed a bath and a hot meal and about forty-eight hours of sleep, not a trip to Detention. But, she thought sadly, this probably wasn’t his first time at the rodeo. 

The contrast between the mini arsenal and the few personal effects was stark. The teddy bear leaned tiredly against the spare shirt. _Yeah, buddy,_ Vasquez thought, _I can sure relate. You and I have both seen better days, haven’t we. And neither of us has been able to save the ones we’re supposed to protect._

The officer squinted up at the boy, her forearms resting on her thighs. “Well, my young friend, this is disappointing.” Vasquez sent a quick text for back-up, and rose, pulling her binders out of the back of her utility belt with resignation. “Turn around, spread your legs and put your hands behind you.”

Instead, he took a step backward. “That stuff ain’t mine!” he protested. “Ain’t never seen it before! Sumbody jacked my bag! This ain’t mine, yo!”

“Really?” she eyed him. “Even that bear? Because if it isn’t yours, I know I can find it a good home. Some kid will be glad to have it.” 

“I….” he faltered, looking past her at the bear and swallowing hard.

“So, you want to tell me about it?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “Nuthin’ t’tell.”

“That’s not what the dog says, and believe me, he’s a smart cookie.” She pushed him a little, thinking the bear might be a way to get him to talk. 

He glared at the panting dog. “Dogs ‘r dumb. S’just a stuffie. He dun know nuthin’, yo.”

“So, you’re saying that if I take this bear in the back, and run it through the scanner, and swab it, and maybe even open a couple of its seams, that I won’t find aaannyything at all. That’s what you’re telling me?”

He licked his lips and swallowed again but was stubborn. “That’s what I’m tellin’ ya, yo.”

At that moment, Chipit, who had been sitting patiently by and drooling slightly at the smell of the tuna, decided that he had waited long enough for his reward. His training broke; he darted forward, scarfed down the sandwich in two gulps, and then snatched the bear up, flinging it exuberantly into the air and pouncing on it as it landed, growling and shaking his head and throwing it up again. 

There was an anguished scream and the boy rushed past Vasquez. “NO!! Fuckin’ mutt LEAVE ‘IM ALONE! LEAVE ‘IM! GIT AWAY YA FUCKIN’ MONSTER!” He grabbed one of the knives and the chain and started whipping it at the dog, yelling unintelligibly while trying to get close enough to save the bear. 

Vasquez realized that Chipit had mistaken the toy for his usual treat, but that didn’t matter now. She had to somehow salvage the situation: save her dog and subdue the boy and keep the public safe. Praying her back-up would arrive quickly, she drew her billy club, waited until the chain was on a back swing, and thrust the stick forward, letting it wrap around the shaft and then yanking it out of the boy’s grasp. Focused on the dog, he didn’t see her coming, and stumbled backward. Taking advantage of his loss of balance, Vasquez slammed her forearm down on the forearm of his knife hand, tucking her hand under his armpit and up over the back of his neck, turning him and throwing him to the ground in one smooth move. She followed him down, swiftly disarming him and shoving the knife out of his reach as she cuffed him.

“Stupid move,” she huffed, breathing heavily. “You just added assault and resisting arrest to the rest of the charges you’re facing. Looks like you’re going to be enjoying Junon’s hospitality for a long time, son.”

There was no answer except gulping sobs as he lay there with his eyes squeezed shut and his face pressed against the cold concrete.

Vasquez could hear other officers in the background, calming the crowd and moving the rubberneckers along, and starting to inventory and bag everything on the floor. She sat back on her heels, pushing her hair from her forehead and looked for Chipit. He was nowhere to be seen. 

She stood and gave a piercing whistle, trying to see where he was. In a minute he came slowly into view, slunk up to her and dropped the bear at her feet, hanging his head guiltily. He knew he had done something wrong. 

Vasquez picked up his leash, making sure she had a firm grip on it. It would be back to training for a while for Chipit. She was just glad the incident had ended without anyone being injured, including him. Then she bent again and picked up the wet, mangled little teddy bear. Well, perhaps there had been one casualty. She glanced at the boy on the ground. Perhaps two.

Three years later, when the boy was released from the Junon pen, Vasquez made sure she was there to meet him. She had kept tabs on him, come to his parole hearings, and advocated for his early release when he proved to be a model prisoner. She had sent him cookies, and socks, and made sure he had access to such courses as were offered for academic upgrading. Her intuition proved true again: he took every opportunity to improve himself, and while he never opened up or indeed said much to her, she knew he was grateful. And, when she handed him the teddy bear, washed and clean and patched but whole, at her first visit, the look on his face was reward enough for everything else she came to do for him.

She saw him standing at the final set of doors. The officer at his elbow handed him a duffle bag, buzzed him out, and he was free. He walked toward her, still skinny, but clean, and still walking with that wary drifting gait. As he stopped in front of her, those piercing green eyes stared at her and the haunted look in them brought a lump to her throat. 

“Got everything?” she asked. They both knew what she was referring to. He patted a spot on the duffle and slung it over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

She handed him a plastic bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, and her card. “If you ever get to Midgar…I wrote the name of a friend of mine on the back. Tell him I sent you.”

He took the card, flipped it over, read ‘Veld – Shin-Ra HQ’, and nodded, slipping it into his pocket with the cookies.

They shook hands solemnly. “Good luck,” Vasquez said. “And stay away from dogs.”

 

“So you got caught with a bunch of weapons at Junon Port by a dog and ended up in the pokey there for three years? That’s it? That’s why you hate dogs?” Rufus said incredulously.

“Yep.”

“You made me wait for two hours for a two minute explanation?” Rufus was highly offended.

“Never said it was a long story, yo.”

“You gypped me!” Rufus complained.

“Ya made yer flight, dinja?”

“That’s beside the point! You promised me in-flight entertainment! NOW what am I supposed to do!”

“Read a book, yo.”

Rufus looked shocked. 

Sighing, Reno got up, stepped across the tiny aisle, pulled down a pair of headphones from the panel above the seats and snapped them over Rufus’ ears. “There. Edification is priceless, yo.”

Rufus scowled at him, then his expression smoothed as his attention was caught by the program Reno had dialed up for him.

As he passed her on the way back, Dark Nation stuck out her tentacle and gave Reno’s leg a small tap, lightly zapping him. He yelped and fell into his seat. “Fuckin’ mutt! Keep yerself t’yerself, ya hear me? Or we’re gonna have it out, yo, me an’ you!” 

Dark wrinkled a lip at him, exposing a fang, then lowered her head onto her paws, ignoring him.

Reno propped his ankle up on his knee, still swearing under his breath as he massaged his calf. He adjusted the shade on his window and leaned his head back against his seat, planning to get a little shut-eye before they landed and Rufus demanded all his attention again. His hand drifted up and absently patted his breast pocket. He pulled out a small tattered photo of a stuffed bear, the part of the story he had not bothered to mention. He studied it for a minute, then replaced it, closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh, alone with his private memories.


End file.
